


Closed Eyes, Open Hands

by mrsvc



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Episode: Sandman, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Blindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc/pseuds/mrsvc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scene from Sandman: how Nick gets his sight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closed Eyes, Open Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Honest to God, I didn't even listen to "When You Look Me in the Eyes" *once* while writing this. I'm freaking proud of myself. 
> 
> Also, I started writing this MONTHS ago, right after the episode aired, and I never finished it. I've been doing an epic S1 rewatch, so I felt the need to finish it. 
> 
> Un-beta'd.

“Hey, Nick, come on, let’s take that wrap off.” Monroe says as he perches uneasily on the coffee table in front of his living room couch. 

They had deposited Nick on the couch as soon as they had cleaned up the mess at the house, leaving Hank to explain the more outlandish parts before the distant sirens they heard arrived. Casey was staring at them all with those crooked eyebrows and doe-eyes, silently asking them to explain this shit and protect me in the same look. 

Rose had drug Nick out, fingers threaded with his on one hand, and Monroe ran ahead of them, trying to dig the keys to the car out of his pocket. Nick’s hearing was still in over-drive, and he could almost pick out Rose’s heart beat over the cadence of her heels on the sidewalk. Monroe had done very well keeping most of his opinions to himself, even under his breath, and he waited until they were safely ensconced back in his house before exploding. 

It was a very controlled, very Monroe kind of explosion. It mostly involved a lot of sputtering, a few half-formed sentences, and ended with, “I need a drink.” Nick had sat patiently, face wrapped up in something foul-smelling that he didn’t really want to know more about, while the two of them drank a glass of wine (or three) in the kitchen. 

It had been a few hours since then, Rose long gone home to sleep off the stress of their lives, and Monroe had been mostly hiding in his kitchen while Nick stewed in the questionable salve and tried to nap on the couch. His hearing was too acute still and he really couldn’t relax. The off-kilter ticking of the multiple clocks around - something he had had a few months now to become used to - was louder and more annoying than ever and not having his sight to balance out the rest of his senses meant that sleep was impossible. 

“You know, when I woke up this morning, digging out the huge, compound eyeball of a Jinnamuru Xunte with a large spork was not on my to-do list,” Monroe says, reaching behind Nick to untie to bandage. 

Nick snorts, and tries not to flinch as the dried salve peeled away from his skin. “Going blind and getting super-sonic hearing wasn’t exactly on my agenda either.” 

“Dude,” Monroe placates. He raises a cool thumb to skin underneath Nick’s eye. “Your skin looks way better too, man. Not all red and puffy anymore. Wanna test out your eyes? Hey, maybe you got some super x-ray vision out of this!”

“I just hope I have some vision, honestly,” Nick bitches. 

“Point. Okay, I’ve got the lights down low so it shouldn’t be too jarring, but let’s just try and take this slow.” 

Nick, because he doesn’t do things halfway and also because he’s too impatient to wait, pops both of his eyes open at the same time. Monroe did have the lights dimmed, but it was still a little bit too much for him at first. He winced, and closed his eyes again, throwing up his arm to block what little light seeped through his skin. 

“Well, I’ll take that all as a good sign. It means you saw something.” 

Nick blinks, accepting the flashes of pain searing across his eyeballs and into the back of his brain. He can feel Monroe’s hand on his jaw, trying to turn his face so he can assess the damage done. Nick’s eyes no longer feel like they were coated in sand and eventually he can hold still enough for Monroe to bring the warm washcloth up to his face to wash the remaining salve away. 

“Should I go for the good old ‘how many fingers’ routine or is that too cliche, even for us?”

Nick reaches out blindly and fumbles around until he finds where Monroe had already stuck two fingers up in front of his face. “Hardy-har-har. Oh, Christ.” He rubs a hand across his forehead, waiting for the pain to recede, and tries to blink his eyes open again. 

“Dude, seriously, take it slow. There’s no rush.” 

Nick has his eyes mostly now and he’s starting to get vague shapes again. Everything’s blurry like he needs glasses, but the first concrete thing he’s able to make out is Monroe’s face. He smiles, and his relief must be palpable, because Monroe relaxes too. 

“Can you see me?” 

Nick nods. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s - You’ve been holding onto that pun all night, haven’t you?” 

Nick just smiles, the smug effect ruined by the way he has to keep his eyes squinted to make everything just slightly less fuzzy around the edges. Monroe’s hands cup his jaw again and he sits obediently still so Monroe can take a quick inventory of just how much damage was or was not inflicted on his corneas from all this shit. 

“It doesn’t look cut or scratched,” Monroe murmurs thoughtfully, head tipped back so he could focus through his own reading glasses. 

“Small miracles,” Nick mutters, and sinks back in the couch. “It would be kind of ironic, you know? A Grimm who can’t see.” He can see a sort of hazy shift in front of him, and he figures Monroe shrugged his shoulders. 

“You did alright last night.” 

“Yeah, last night. When I already knew what I was up against. I don’t think, even with this new.... amplified hearing, that I would last very long against Reapers like this.” 

“Well,” Monroe says, standing up and stretching. “I suppose that’s why you’ve got me, huh? Eyes in the back of your head. Or, the front, I guess. We’re not Doppelgesichtig. I mean, no one can just be a Doppelgesichtig. Whatever, I digress. Come on, big guy. It’s late.”

Nick stands up, eyes still mostly closed against the light, and flails his hands out to try to grab the back of the couch. 

“Are you kidding?” Monroe grabs his wrist against, and tugs slightly. “If you make one guide dog joke, I swear to fucking God.” 

The stairs are a bit of a trial. Nick keeps trying to squint through the darkness to make out the steps, but he keeps either kicking the baseboard or missing the step completely and feeling his stomach bottom out. He doesn’t even realize they had made it to the top until he tries to step up again and his foot drops too quickly. Monroe has to hold his shoulders to keep him from pitching forward. 

“Don’t laugh,” Nick warns. 

“Hey, no jokes, dude. Come on, bed. Your eyes should be all better in the morning.” Nick follows behind Monroe, hands on both walls, following the blurry figure of Monroe in front of him. “Hey, come on, just- Stay in here. With me. I don’t like the idea of leaving you on your own like this. Not that I don’t think you’re capable, it’s just-”

“Monroe, I really don’t fucking care. My head is starting to pound because of all the goddamn ticking in his house and my eyes are starting to burn again. Just-” He grabs the extra fabric of Monroe’s shirt and tugs. “I’ve seen your room, man. You’ve got, like, four thousand clocks on that fucking mantel and I don’t think I can take that tonight.”

Nick’s room is marginally quieter than the rest of Monroe’s house. Monroe had thoughtfully moved all but three clocks out of the room before Nick had taken it over, and can actually feel the throbbing in his head lessen. 

He strips off his leather jacket and tosses it somewhere in the vicinity of the closet. He doesn’t have to be able to see to know Monroe’s frown, but he honestly doesn’t care. He just wants to go to sleep for, like, the next seven years. He toes his shoes off with less drama involved and shuffles towards what he thinks looks vaguely bed-shaped. He throws himself onto it and listens to the sound of Monroe picking up the stray clothes from the floor. 

“Don’t you fucking dare wake me up for sunrise yoga, Monroe, I swear.” 

Monroe huffs, and starts tugging the comforter out from underneath Nick. He tries to shoot a mean look in his friend’s direction, but seeing as how he would actually have to open his eyes again to do that, he just lifts his hips up and lets Monroe fold the sheets down. He can feel the bed shift when Monroe’s weight tips him off center and he waits for the click of the bedside lamp before he grabs the pillow and shoves it over his head. 

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bettwanzen bite.” 

“You can bite me,” Nick grumbles, and struggles against Monroe trying to take the pillow from over his head. 

“You’ll suffocate.” 

“It’s the chance I’ll take to kill the noise. I can hear everything. I can hear a fucking cat meowing out on the streets from two streets over.” 

Monroe sighs, and finally wins the pillow fight. He throws the pillow to the foot of the bed and lays back down on his back. “Let me teach you a little trick. It helps Blutbaden children through their first woge. You’ve got to stop letting everything in. The sensory overload is intense, man. It’s part of the reason we get so scared during the woge. Suddenly, things that you didn’t know existed are all apparent and right in front of your face. I could hear dog whistles, dude. So, stop. Just stop. Pick something, focus on it, and stop.” 

“Well, I’d tell you to keep talking, but-” Nick stops when the pillow slams into his chest with a little more force than necessary. He slides it back behind his head and tries to breathe deeply, drown out everything with the sound of his own heart. He can hear it - slow and sure - but he can also hear the slightly faster thump of Monroe’s next to him. They are off-beat and don’t make a very good melody, but the disconnect makes it easier to focus on them.

“Hey, Monroe?” 

“Yes, Nick?” He sounds very put-out, and Nick supposes Monroe would be - taken from his comfort zone to deal with Nick’s problems once again. 

“Thanks.”

Monroe shifts in the bed next to him and Nick feels a strong hand on his wrist. “You’re welcome. Now, go to sleep. I’ve got a blindfold and, like, six over-ripe melons that I think we should play a little Homerun Derby with tomorrow.” 

Nick turns on his side, feels the tip of his nose brush against the curve of Monroe’s shoulder, and smiles. His head hurts a lot less now and the burning in his eyes has receded to just a sort of a barely there buzz behind his eyelids. “Monroe?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”


End file.
